


Returning Home

by Angelise (angelise7)



Category: Tombstone (1993)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 03:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13561545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelise7/pseuds/Angelise
Summary: Doc wrestles with the news that Wyatt’s wife has left him.





	Returning Home

 

 

Slapping at the layers of dust that coated his traveling clothes, John Henry ‘Doc’ Holliday, watched as his horse was guided into a nearby stall. “Treat him well, Master Timothy. He’s endured an extremely long and problematic journey.” Doc tossed the smiling boy several coins before exiting the livery. 

“Home, sweet home.” The legendary gambler pulled out an engraved silver flask and took several swallows of whiskey, his weary gaze surveying the lazy afternoon passage of people on the streets of Tombstone. A cynical smile lifted the corner of his mouth at the thought of calling this bustling town home. His true birthplace, his original home, would forever be the beloved state of Georgia, and yet, in all the years since he had left, he had never remained in one place long enough to put down roots. All of that had changed last fall when a certain family arrived in Tombstone.   

Doc glanced toward the local jail, expecting to find a familiar set of blue eyes ready to welcome him home. Sadly, the open doorway stood empty, and he couldn’t help but feel a brief moment of disappointment. Replacing his whiskey flask within an inner pocket of his dark gray frock coat, he took a moment to stretch his aching muscles before strolling toward the two men standing in the street in front of the jail. 

Touching a finger to the wide brim of his black hat, he offered a greeting to the Earp brothers. “Afternoon, Virgil. Morgan.”

“Welcome home, Doc.” With a broad grin on his face, the ever gregarious Morgan threw an arm around Doc’s shoulders. “You been gone so long, we thought you decided to find yourself a new game in a new town.” 

Morgan peered closely at him, no doubt noting the visible exhaustion that seemed forever etched upon his features nowadays. “I don’t see no new scars,” the young man noted, “so I’m guessing you got Kate moved up to Denver without problems.” Morgan guided him over to the chairs that flanked the jail’s doorway. “Have a seat. Rest those weary bones of yours.”

“I must admit it did indeed take longer than I expected, but I am happy to report my former associate has been settled quite nicely into her new residence.” Doc declined the offer to sit and, instead, turned to shake hands with Virgil. “Did our red sash ruffians conduct themselves in an amenable manner while I was gone?” With a nod of his head, he indicated the group of Cowboys, Tombstone’s resident outlaws, lingering outside the blacksmith’s shop. 

Eyes twinkling, Virgil stroked his bushy mustache before replying. “Let’s just say, they didn’t kill no one who didn’t need killin’.” 

Doc joined in the laughter while searching the darkened interior of the jail. “I’m sure there’s a prayer of gratitude we should be offering for that small miracle.”

Briefly removing his hat in order to wipe the sweat from his brow, Morgan grinned first at Doc and then his brother. “If you figure out what that prayer is, let me know, and I’ll start recitin’ it on a daily basis.” 

Virgil caught his attention with a slight nod of his head and Doc answered with a simple lift of an eyebrow. “Virgil?”

Instead of answering his query, Virgil directed his attention to his younger brother. “Morgan, there’s a new batch of wanted posters that need to go up. Why don’t you take care of that while I escort Doc over to _The Oriental_ so that he can wash away the dust in his throat with a whiskey?”

Doc watched the silent exchange between the two brothers and instantly a feeling of dread lit a fire in the pit of his belly. Without a word being said, he knew something had happened to Wyatt. Turning to the older lawman, he again inquired, “Virgil?”

The man’s answer was lost in the thunderous noise surrounding a herd of cattle being driven down the main street of Tombstone. By the time the last beast had straggled by, Virgil was directing him toward the saloon. 

“Dear friend.” Doc shook his arm free of Virgil’s grip. “My time on this earth is extremely limited, therefore, I would appreciate it immensely if you would tell me what’s wrong.” His concern for Wyatt increased each second Virgil remained silent. On the verge of threatening the man with bodily harm, Doc was struck speechless by the words Virgil finally uttered.

“Mattie left Wyatt.” 

Doc watched Virgil politely tip his hat to the trio of ladies strolling past them before returning a shrewd gaze in his direction. “Been gone on nigh a week now.”

Doc shook off the shock brought upon by Virgil’s news and worriedly glanced in the direction of the street upon which Wyatt’s home was located. “Would you call me a heartless bastard if I said… good riddance?” 

He pushed his way into _The Oriental_ and claimed a place at the far end of the bar, hiding his true emotions in the afternoon shadows. Mattie was Wyatt’s common-law wife, a laudanum-addicted bitch who had put the lawman through all kinds of hell. Having witnessed Wyatt’s silent suffering over the past several months, Doc had been tempted, on more than one occasion, to _kindly persuade_ Mattie to return back East. His friend did not deserve to be constantly shamed by her drug-induced theatrics. 

Refusing to spare another moment of thought for the misfortunate woman, he returned his attention to Virgil. “How is Wyatt dealing with this regrettable turn of events?” Doc nodded his appreciation for the bottle of whiskey placed before him by Milt Joyce, _The Oriental’s_ resident bartender. A small smile escaped him when his cherished silver tumbler was collected from its honorary shelf on the wall behind the bar and placed beside the full bottle. He wasted no time in throwing back a shot. “If I know my good friend, and, indeed I do, Wyatt is taking full blame for Mattie’s desertion.”

“He is. And that’s partly why I wanted to get to you first.” Virgil took a healthy swallow of the beer he had ordered. “Wyatt’s been holed up in his house since Mattie boarded the train. He won’t talk, barely eats. Just sits there in the bedroom, staring at the few things she left behind.” 

Virgil slipped his hat off and, in frustration, ran a hand through his graying hair. “We’ve all tried reasoning with him, Doc. Me, Morgan, the womenfolk. Wyatt don’t pay us no mind, just sits there in that damn rocking chair, rocking back and forth, slugging down bottle after bottle of cheap whiskey. We kinda hoped you’d be able to talk some sense into him. Somehow make him understand it ain’t all his fault.”

Doc refilled his tumbler. “I’ll do my best but we both know how determined Wyatt is in regards to carrying the weight of the entire world on his broad shoulders.”

“Determined is not the word I would use, Doc. Stubborn’s more like it. Stubborn and thick-headed.” Virgil drained the rest of his beer and slammed the glass mug back down on the bar. “You can’t tell him nothing.”

Using his handkerchief to silence the damnable cough that would no doubt plague him until the day he died, Doc stared at Virgil for several seconds, his mind grappling with something the lawman had said earlier. “What did you mean by _partly_? Should I assume there’s an additional reason for you telling me about Wyatt and Mattie?” He had an inkling as to what Virgil meant but he wanted the man to verbally confirm it. 

Virgil cut his eyes back and forth, checking the perimeter for any eavesdroppers. “Me and Morgan….” He lowered his voice. “Me and Morgan, we know how _close_ you and Wyatt are.”

Doc couldn’t help the brief appearance of a smile that hinted at mockery when he heard the whispered emphasis Virgil placed on the word ‘ _close’_. He chose not to comment and simply lifted an eyebrow.

“We thought if anyone could wrestle our brother out of his misery, it would be you.” Virgil replaced his hat on his head. “I don’t exactly approve of what’s going on between you two but I do recognize the fact that you honestly care for Wyatt.” 

A gaze slightly tinged with disgust met his briefly, and Doc again refused to acknowledge Wyatt’s older brother.

“Anyway,” Virgil continued, “since my brother’s well-being is what’s important right now, I’m gonna put aside my personal feelings and ask that you go see him.”

Doc took the time to pour himself another measure of whiskey and sip it slowly while bridling the resentment that rose up in him. He and Wyatt had been lovers since the two of them had met up with each other again in Dodge City. They did not flaunt their relationship, preferring to express their affection for each other in the privacy of rooms with locked doors and in the darkness that surrounded wilderness campfires. He had done his best to conceal his overwhelming feelings for Wyatt, refusing to jeopardize his friend’s position, both with the townspeople and with his family. Unfortunately his heart did not always obey the restrictions placed upon it and would allow a touch to linger longer than acceptable or a look to communicate more than just friendship. Virgil, being the silent observer of the Earp brothers, had obviously noticed the subtle signs and come to the correct conclusion in regards to the true nature of their relationship. 

“I’m impressed by your fortitude, Virgil. Having the strength of character to ignore your abhorrence for what Wyatt and I share.” Doc dug out payment for his afternoon libations and placed it on the counter. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a _friend_ that needs comforting.” 

The gambler made as if to move past Virgil but instead turned and faced him, pushing against Virgil, allowing him to feel the outline of his holstered gun. “Wyatt and I do not **need** , nor do we **seek** your approval. Our relationship is no one’s business but our own, and I would appreciate it if you would refrain from discussing your personal feelings with others. Wyatt does not need any more burdens placed upon him at his moment.” Doc took a step back and casually straightened Virgil’s vest. “Do we understand each other, Sheriff?” 

Virgil stared at him for a brief length of time. “Back off, Doc. It’s bad enough Mattie left ‘cause a you two.” Shifting his attention to the room at large, he muttered quietly, “Keep it private and I’ll keep my own counsel.” Virgil touched the brim of his hat and walked away. 

Doc followed the older man out of the saloon, his anger mutating into anxious concern as he walked down the street toward Wyatt’s home. He cursed himself each step his booted feet took him closer and closer to the man he called his lover, his brother-in-arms, his eternal friend. Had his love for the legendary gunfighter brought this moment of sadness to their doorstep? Had Mattie, as had Virgil, recognized Wyatt’s heart now belonged to Doc, leaving little if no room for others? Had this painful knowledge truly determined the pitiful woman’s course of action?

Stopping outside the picket fence that surrounded the simple, one story wooden frame house, Doc sent his thoughts down another track, one that was obstructed by doubts. Could Wyatt possibly be rethinking their relationship? Blaming Doc for Mattie’s abandonment? Was Wyatt hiding out in his house, trying to come up with the words that would send Doc saddling his horse again, thus making the way clear for Mattie’s return? 

A wind blew down the street, swinging the gate open, freeing it from his lax grip. He watched the gate slap against the fence and couldn’t help but wonder if Fate had snatched it open, inviting him in. 

Doc cautiously approached the front door. Again, he was stopped by a moment of uncharacteristic hesitancy and, this time, he gave in to the feeling, retreating to the swing at the end of the wide porch that circled the front of the house. Sitting down heavily, he put the swing in motion and contemplated a life without Wyatt. 

“What life?” he mumbled. All he could see ahead was a future of aimless wandering and loneliness, an echo of the life that he had already spent far too many years living. Yes, some of those years had been shared with Kate, his on again, off again, paramour and gaming partner. But Kate’s presence was welcomed only at the poker table and in his bed, never had she been invited into his heart. His heart belonged to only one person and, at this moment, he did not know how it would survive without Wyatt’s love to sustain its faltering rhythm.

A strangling cough hit and he struggled to catch his breath. “Hhmph. Maybe the Devil will call my bluff and take me early. That would certainly put an end to all this sorrowful speculation.” 

Slowly swinging back and forth, Doc sat alone on the porch for another quarter of an hour, his thoughts wrestling with his heart. Finally, after a deep sigh of resignation cheated his diseased lungs of precious air, he stood and walked inside the house, pausing only long enough to remove his hat and his duster.

“Wyatt?” He cracked open the bedroom door and cautiously peered inside. “I just got back into town and was wondering if you would care to join me for an early supper. Two weeks of campfire delicacies and I find myself famished for some of Mrs. Pepperman’s home cooking.” 

The room was hidden in shadows and he could barely make out Wyatt’s face. Approaching his silent friend, he squatted beside him, gently placing his hand on the man’s thigh. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” Ignoring the scattering of empty whiskey bottles on the floor, Doc cocked his head to the side and favored Wyatt with a half smile. “I most certainly have missed you.”

Wyatt remained silent, his gaze focused on a dark corner, his hands clutching a yellowed piece of newspaper. Concern for Wyatt increased as the seconds passed by, each one marked by the hollow ticking sound of the grandfather clock in the front sitting parlor. Shifting to his knees in order to get closer, Doc reached up and brushed an errant lock of Wyatt’s hair back into place. 

With a quiet chuckle, he inquired, “I know my return is a bit overdue but does it really warrant such an astounding welcome of silence?” He turned Wyatt’s head toward him and saw that the man’s eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. Doc instantly discarded his protective mantle of sarcasm at the silent evidence of his friend’s pain. Lowering his voice, he cupped the side of Wyatt’s face and brushed his thumb over the curve of his cheek. “I’m here, Wyatt. Let me help you.” 

“Doc?” 

The hoarse, raspy sound of his name was his undoing and Doc dropped his head, resting it on Wyatt’s thigh, taking a moment to savor the privilege of touching the lawman, of feeling the heat of his flesh through the rough fabric of the trousers pillowing his head. The words of comfort he was prepared to offer strangled in his throat at the touch of trembling fingers tangling in his hair, their gentle stroking calming the trepidation in his heart. 

“I know about Mattie,” Doc whispered. “Virgil told me.” The hand in his hair stilled and he glanced up at Wyatt, finding him staring at the piece of newspaper he held in his other hand. 

“I....” Wyatt closed his eyes briefly. “I came home for lunch and she was gone.” He gazed off to the side, looking at the large armoire in the corner of the room, its doors wide open, its interior bare. “No letter, no words of explanation. Just this….” He held up the newspaper clipping. “Pinned to my pillow.”

Doc found himself looking at a wrinkled image of Wyatt and himself. He instantly noticed the intimacy of their pose, the closeness of their stance, the way Wyatt held him to his side with a hand curled around his neck. With a slight frown on his face, Doc remembered that moment, remembered the jackass photographer from back East who insisted he just had to have a picture of the infamous duo for his newspaper. Doc had wanted nothing to do with the man but Wyatt had cajoled him into cooperating by whispering the wicked details of their upcoming night together. The reporter had captured Doc’s look of surprised delight at Wyatt’s unexpected brazen behavior, his eyes and smile revealing the depth of feelings he had for Wyatt.

Rubbing his hand over Wyatt’s knee, Doc let out a sigh of frustration. Obviously Mattie had gotten her hands on the newspaper and seen the article, seen what few others had… the evidence of her husband’s unfaithfulness.  

“I’m sorry, my friend.” Pushing away, Doc dug out his handkerchief, barely getting it to his mouth in time to catch the blood-tinged phlegm his coughing spasms produced. “I….,” He sucked in a breath of air. “I have done my best to keep my feelings for you private but sometimes my control falters and….” He tapped the newspaper clipping. “… this is the result.”

Suddenly tired beyond belief, Doc struggled to his feet. “I’m truly sorry, Wyatt. It was not my intention to bring this current sorrow into your life.” He looked toward the door. “Maybe I should pack up my things and leave Tombstone. Maybe if I’m gone, Mattie will return home and Virgil will quit passing judgment upon your life.” 

Gently touching Wyatt’s bowed head, Doc whispered. “I’ll leave in the morning.” He chuckled half-heartedly. “My horse would drop my ass in the nearest watering trough if I rode out right now.” He combed shaking fingers through the hair on the nape of Wyatt’s neck. “Would it be too much to ask for you to come and see me off tomorrow? Give me a farewell kiss?  

“Doc!” 

The gambler looked down at the fingers bruising his hand. “It’s okay. I understand.” Doc grimaced as the grip on his hand tightened. “Excuse me for making such an improper suggestion. There is no need for you to be present. I’ll see myself off and that shall be the end of that.”

“No!”

Doc peeled Wyatt’s hand free. “Wyatt, let go. Get back with Mattie. Consider starting a family.” He walked toward the door and opened it slowly, his heart shattering with each step that took him away from his one true soulmate.

“No!” 

Doc heard the sound of a chair crashing to the floor seconds before hands frantically gripped his shoulders and spun him around. Thankfully he was able to secure a lungful of air before his upper torso was surrounded by a set of arms dedicated to the singular intent of crushing his brittle ribcage.

 “You can’t leave, Doc,” Wyatt hoarsely insisted. “Not now, not ever. You’re my friend, ya hear? I need you.” 

Gathering his meager strength, Doc pushed against Wyatt, forcing the man to loosen his hold. “You’re my friend, too. And I don’t want to leave you during your time of need, but I think it would be the best solution for both of us.” 

Doc took a step backwards and shook his head. “I know the people of this town think I’m a hard and unfeeling bastard. And on most occasions, they would be correct in their assumptions. But they are dead wrong when it comes to you, Wyatt. My feelings for you are true, the truest I have ever felt for a human being. And **that** is the reason I must leave Tombstone.”

He fingered the hilt of his holstered gun. “I would rather suffer the agony of a thousand bullet wounds than watch you and Mattie heal the rift that has torn you apart. To be a willing bystander to your life and the children your reunion would produce? I’m just not sure . . . .” 

Doc grunted with pain when his back, sore beyond measure from hours of sitting on a horse, slammed against the wall next to the bedroom’s open door. He somehow choked back the expletive that rose to his lips and instead, found enough breath to query the reason Wyatt was, once again, attempting to crush his slighter frame.

“Wyatt? My decaying physique will only . . . .”

“Forget Mattie, damn it!” Wyatt demanded with a shout. “This ain’t about her. Never was.” 

Wyatt gentled his grip for which Doc was greatly thankful for and demonstrated his appreciation by taking several deep breaths guaranteed to keep his bone-weary ass from hitting the weathered floorboards beneath his feet.

Looking up at the face of his beloved, he found Wyatt offering him a watery smile of apology. 

“Doc, these damn tears, they aren’t for Mattie. They’re for you, you dumber than dumb fuck.” 

Doc was opening his mouth to protest the incredibly erroneous assessment of his character when Wyatt buried his face in the crook of his neck and quietly muttered words Doc had to strain to hear.

“I thought you weren’t coming back. You were gone so fuckin’ long. What was I supposed to think?”

Warm, moist lips traversed the entire length of his neck and, for a brief moment, Doc regretted the unhygienic state of his person. Fortunately Wyatt did not share his concerns and continued to feast upon the sweat-stained, grime-coated flesh of his throat.

“I thought you had left me just like Mattie had,” Wyatt continued. “I’ll miss Mattie but not half as much as I would miss you. You’re in my blood, Doc; hell, in my very bones.” 

Doc bit his lower lip in an attempt to silence the whimper that threatened the silence when Wyatt ceased all explorations of the sensitive area behind his left ear. Prying open eyes he was certain he had not closed, he met Wyatt’s determined gaze straight on.

“I love you,” Wyatt declared with a somewhat lopsided grin. “And I’ll get down on my knees and beg you to stay if that’s what it’ll take to keep you here with me.”

“Are you sure?” Doc threaded fingers that were none too steady through the older man’s tousled hair. “Life would most definitely be easier for you if, somehow, you could convince Mattie to return home.”

His hand was claimed and a gentle kiss pressed to its palm.

“Hell, Doc, my life ain’t _never_ been easy, and I doubt it’s ever gonna get easy. But I do know with you by my side life will sure as hell be worth getting up for in the morning, which is more than I can say for these past few years me and Mattie were together.” 

Permitting the moisture that was clouding his vision to escape down his cheeks, Doc found himself the recipient of whisper-soft kisses that wandered from his eyes to his nose before finally touching down on his lips.

“Stay with me, Doc” Wyatt pleaded. The words were offered with a kiss that was slow and tender and communicated feelings Wyatt had no words for. 

Doc jerked his head back, his ailing lungs unable to sustain the kiss for more than a brief moment. “For how.…” He struggled to catch his breath. “For how long, Wyatt? Until Mattie comes back? Or until some other filly catches your eye?” He smothered his cough with the blood-stained handkerchief Wyatt pressed into his hand. “My life is too damn short to spend the remainder of it recovering from a broken heart.” 

Collecting the newspaper clipping from where it lay on the floor, dropped, no doubt, when Wyatt slammed him against the wall, Doc stared at the picture for what seemed to be an eternity. “I’ll ask you again, my friend. How long do you want me to stay?”

Doc reluctantly surrendered the clipping to Wyatt and watched in silence while the older man carefully folded it and tucked it inside his front shirt pocket. He made a mental note to liberate the item at a later date and add it to the collection of cherished items he had squirreled away over the years spent with Wyatt.

“I’m thinking forever’s a good place to start. What’cha think?”

Doc frowned with consternation when he was pushed in the direction of the bed Wyatt had shared with Mattie. Refusing to answer the question taking shake on his lover’s lips, he, instead,   guided Wyatt out of the house and onto the porch.

“Doc?”

Wyatt claimed a seat on the swing and Doc took a brief moment to tangle their fingers together before surrendering to society’s notions of decorum and retreating to the steps that led down from the porch. He perused the street in both directions before responding to Wyatt’s earlier query.

“Forever’s a long time, my friend. Are you sure?”

“Look at me, Doc. You know I can’t bluff worth shit.”

Doc memorized the light of truth and happiness in Wyatt’s eyes before returning his gaze to the group of tediously excitable youngsters exiting the house across the street. He knew deep in his heart that there would come a time when Fate would deny him this simple pleasure but for now he would hoard each and every second of every day spent with this remarkable man.

“Well as I see things, and, as you know, my perception of our situation is far superior to yours, I can, with complete certainty, agree to the terms you have put forth.”

Doc caught sight of the smug grin spreading across Wyatt’s face and nearly took umbrage to its appearance but was forestalled when Wyatt nodded his head.

“Well, alright then. Forever it is.”

“Indeed, my friend. Forever it is.”

 

The end

 

 


End file.
